


Spelunking with the eldritch horrors

by soulhollow



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 01:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11544840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulhollow/pseuds/soulhollow





	1. Eyes in the ice

 

Scrabbling for purchase, Wencel barely had time to consider the encroaching twilight. He was stuck--no--stranded in an altogether dire predicament. No self-respecting denizen of the Ice Flight ought to be in it, and yet here he was, deep in the embrace of a chasm within the Fortress of Ends... and sinking--often falling--deeper with his every attempt to escape.  _A simple errand,_ he thought,  _shouldn't result in this!_ The crevice, occasionally visited by adventurous spelunkers, was just narrow enough to forbid the full breadth of his wings. Regardless, as he'd continued to lose footing and fall, he'd made the attempt, but now had only his battered wings to show for the effort. Common sense dictated that, in such instances of being able to climb, it was perhaps best to pursue a careful descent... yet, upon losing his pick in the initial tumble and failing to hear it hit the bottom, he was more slightly hesitant to make the attempt.  
  
_Some stories_ , he mused,  _are more than mere tales to frighten unruly hatchlings into going to bed._  
  
With a huff of breath, Wencel kicked the talons of a back foot into the jagged wall of ice and used the position to lever himself upwards. It hurt, quite badly, all this kicking. To his chagrin, he'd never developed a talent for working ice to his will. Regardless, he--quite strongly--considered this particular lack a pathetic excuse for his current circumstance, and couldn't imagine Sig remaining stuck in such a fix for long.  
  
Quite suddenly, he noticed the fading light. Where, surely only a few minutes before, he'd been able to see the deep blue of the cliff to which he clung, and his fore-paws and talons, now... now it was growing difficult to make out ridges, or the color of his gloves. The ice, too, had faded to a deep midnight.  
  
_I have to get out of here_ , he thought, with mounting anxiety.  _Calmly,_  he reiterated to himself.  _Carefully._  
  
Five more leg-jarring and talon-bruising kicks later, Wencel found himself little higher than he'd been, save that he could make out the curled ice of the top of the chasm. Above, the sky had faded to a steely blue, and the wind was rising, for it occasionally sent snow dusting down over him.  
  
His next kick failed to gain purchase.  
  
_I just, must, simply have to kick harder,_  he thought, and gave another, firmer, attempt. Pain jarred up his leg, causing his claws to tighten and--very suddenly--lose all of his carefully fought-for grip. Left to scrape wildly at the ice, Wencel instinctively began to use his wings again, buffeting them against the wall as a moth against glass. Despite his furious attempts to remain aloft, the tight walls of the chasm still prevented his wings from providing sufficient downdraft. He was falling.  
  
Still scratching for purchase, Wencel did his best to remain upright. It wouldn't do, to pitch sideways and further speed his unwanted descent.  
  
[Warning for injuries and frightening content ahead.]  
  
With a sharp  **crack!**  and a shower of ice, Wencel gave an involuntary cry. He'd hit--seemingly, shattered--a jut of ice somewhere behind him, on the opposite press of the chasm. The impact rendered his ineffective thrashing entirely useless. Panicked and despairing, he kept up his near-useless scratching against the ice before him, only to meet another outcrop with his right wing. Feeling the impact, he immediately kicked into the ice and leveraged his weight against his outspread wing.  
  
For the moment, he'd stopped his descent.  
  
Shivering with strain, Wencel worked at strengthening his hold on the smooth surface before him. He'd caught himself on a limb, or so it appeared in what remained of the muted light. Exhausted, he tightened his talons into the barest ridges the sheer ice provided and shut his eyes.  
  
Faintly, almost imperceptibly, the ice before him began to fracture. Blinking, Wencel met it with a level gaze. Giddy with stress and weariness, he whispered "stop that immediately."  
  
Suddenly, painfully, the jagged extrusion he'd considered a tree limb shifted to secure a grip. In shock, Wencel pushed himself free of the chasm, but the fierce grasp was unrelenting. It tightened, breaking feather shafts and grinding bone.  
  
In terror, Wencel dangled and gazed at the dimly illuminated ice before him.  
  
Two large eyes, milky white and glowing, opened within the frozen darkness.  
  
"No..." Wencel breathed, realizing precisely the nature of what he'd landed on, in what grip he helplessly dangled.  
  
All the bedtime stories were coming true, it seemed.  
  
"Stay asleep," he whispered to the unblinking gaze, even as the creature's fearful talons continued to tighten.  
  
As a resident of the Fortress of Ends, and a loyal denizen of the Southern Icefields, Wencel knew what was rumored to rest beneath the ice. He knew he gazed upon the face, one of many, of a heretofore dormant Emperor.  
  
Even as the creature worked at grinding the fragile bones of Wencel's wing joint to dust, Wencel brought his one last natural talent to bear.  
  
He sang, brokenly and sadly, the softest lullaby he knew, hoping it was enough, for his life suddenly seemed a paltry matter indeed.


	2. A stranger brings news

Archer, having only moments before returned to his quarters with his breakfast, started when an entirely unexpected clattering assailed his chamber door. Quickly setting his flatware on a desk, he swept a glance over the extreme disarray of his study. It was a mess. Concluding that he'd simply have to do his best to keep them from entering, much less wanting to stay for a visit, he returned to his door.  
  
A Longneck wearing layered coats was, perhaps, the last person he'd considered likely of wanting to see him. To Archer's interest, she wasn't alone, but accompanied by Giuliano, Zydeco, and Husani, all in various states of agitation.   
  
"What's happened?" He asked, immediately concerned.  
  
The Longneck, who'd been gazing up at him since he opened the door, folded her arms. "One of your kin, I hear him. He sings down in Hairsplitter." She shifted her shoulder to bring attention to a coil of rope. "I lowered this rope, but doubtful it reached his depth."  
  
_Wencel_ , he thought, abandoning his door to reach for his outdoor gear.  
  
Zydeco shifted in agitation. "Archer, I've heard stories about that rift. They say it's haunted; it's common talk. We tried to find Nunivak and Sig before coming to you-"  
  
"They're away," Archer replied. "I'll come. I've heard the stories about that rift," he continued, pulling a coat over his head and fitting the clasps around his wings. When he glanced back to the door, he found the Longneck taking in the state of his den. Her expression of disdain was clear.  
  
"You actually a mage, yes?" She queried.  
  
"I am, yes, now let us be off," he replied, weary of the frequent doubt he quarters and oft-mismatched appearance garnered him. Supplies, rope, a small satchel for only the most basic of medical aid, ice picks, and staff in hand, Archer stepped out and swiftly dragged the door shut, more to take their eyes from his clutter than to deter anyone from entering in his absence.

 

* * *

 

It was a short flight to the rift in question.  _Moulin_ , Archer mentally corrected himself, as it had... at least at its forming, been wrought by glacial melt. Wencel, Archer surmised, must have been walking the trails--so short was the distance to their neighboring clan--and Icewarden knew he was certainly the type to take in a beautiful view.

A moment later, Archer's suspicions were confirmed. He spotted a small portion of the trail, lost in a slide, and what appeared to be the result of a short thrash and tumble before Wencel had disappeared over the edge. Cautiously, the small company landed about the lip of the narrow wandering rift.

"His singing has gone," said the Longneck, from Giuliano's shoulders.

Archer approached the chasm, then stretched out on his stomach to look over the edge. Below, all faded into darkness.

"Wencel? Wencel!"

No answer emerged from the depths.

On brief inspiration, Archer gave a sharp whistle into the crevice. The sound, carried by the narrow frozen walls, echoed for several moments.

"Let's set a pick," stated Archer, shifting back to his feet. "I'm going down there."

Husani and Zydeco exchanged worried glances. Giuliano, however; stooped to allow the Longneck to slide free of his shoulders. "I'll help, I've ventured into such rifts before."

Worry plain on his face, Husani glanced about their company. "Shouldn't we... don't you think this is a matter for Nunivak, Sig, perhaps Drift?"

"They're not here and, shocking though I'm sure you'll find it, this _won't_ be my first descent into a rift," Archer stated, dropping his supplies to sort through them.

Giuliano's face split into a devilish grin. "We're enough of a company, I'd say!"

Archer, having uncoiled his rope and pick, gave the curved end a sharp rap into the ice. The point sank deep. From there, he ran the length of rope through the tough bindings on his belt. Giuliano followed, only moments behind, and--once mounted securely--the two edged backwards toward the lip of the chasm.

"Shine us some light, Husani, would you?" Archer asked, pushing off into nothingness.

 

  
Daylight shifted to a powdery luminescence once they'd traversed the edge of the rift. The sun, not yet at its zenith, was at the wrong angle to illuminate their surroundings effectively.  
  
Regardless of the lighting, Giuliano quickly pointed out rough gouges along the ice at their backs.  
  
Concern mounting, Archer continued his careful descent. Naturally skilled at manipulating ice, it was easy to create sturdy footholds, such that he barely had need of the rope he'd secured to guide his downward venture.  
  
Quite suddenly, a bright shaft of light meandered over them. Archer glanced up, quickly spotting Zydeco holding up a sheet of ice. Surely that meant Husani was manipulating the glare through it.  _Well done,_  he thought, before glancing over his shoulder to study the marks of Wencel's fall.  
  
Streaks of blood were frozen amidst the deep gouges.  
  
Archer, momentarily unaware that he'd held his breath, slowly let it out. "He's hurt, Giuliano. Perhaps badly."  
  
Glancing over his shoulder in turn, Giuliano nodded. "Let's get down there."  
  
The two, gifted with new light, pushed away from the wall in tandem.  
  
Another jump and Archer realized how close the walls had grown. "I see now, how he grew to be trapped in here. Surely it'd be impossible to fly out of this."  
  
"Too close, yes. Hardly better than a sound beating, to make such an attempt." Giuliano frowned, considering the bloody gouges at their back. "He can't meld the ice, can he?"  
  
"Not that I'm aware, no. He's told me, for all his agility on foot and in flight, that his only other natural gift was his ability to sing, to guile hatchlings to sleep, if you will."  
  
"Odd that he should sing down here, Archer," mused Giuliano.  
  
Although they soon lost the best angle of the light, Archer still managed to spot something before taking another jump. "Giuliano, look there."  
  
"It's him!" Giuliano exclaimed, pushing off once more. Archer joined him. Within two descents, they grew level to Wencel's injured form.  
  
"Earthshaker..." murmured Giuliano.  
  
"Shhh-" cautioned Archer, softly, taking in the gruesome situation before them. Grasping his rope with one fore-claw, he twisted to reach for Wencel with his freed talons. Beneath his touch, Wencel's neck was warm.  
  
"He lives, Giuliano. I know not how," he whispered, running his gaze over the wall of ice. "Be most quiet. We've no desire to rouse that which lurks here, for we've entered its prison. Look-" he pointed to the gnarled limb that held Wencel by the joint of his wing. "It stirred, momentarily, to grasp him."  
  
"Is.... is that a-"  
  
"Oh, yes," breathed Archer.  
  
Giuliano cast a stricken look back to him. "How are we to-"  
  
" _Most_  carefully," Archer replied, voice grim.


	3. Painful rescue

Pain--swift and hot--returned Wencel to consciousness. A hoarse cry escaped his throat before he clamped his mouth in terror, eyes fixed on the ice.  
  
"We know, Wencel," whispered Archer, shifting into his line of sight. "Giuliano and I, we've come, we're going to get you out of here. Try, as best you can, to remain as quiet as possible."  
  
As the mage spoke, he continued working a length of rope through the loops at the waist of Wencel's parka.  
  
"It has me, Archer. I'm caught," he whispered back, his wing a blaze of pain at the slightest movement. "I saw its eyes. You'd risk waking it, in freeing me."  
  
"Wencel, _shh!_ "  
  
Not to be deterred, Wencel lifted his head. "You can't, Archer. Waking this-"  
  
" _I've no intention_  of waking it. Hush, let me focus." Archer shifted out of Wencel's view. In his absence, Giuliano appeared by his opposite side. "I'm going to carry you out of here, Wencel. What he plans to do, it'll hurt. He says you may pass out, so I'm going to fasten you about my back, between my wings. All right?"  
  
"He shouldn't-"  
  
"It's Archer, Wencel. You know how he gets."  
  
Wencel, exhausted beyond endurance, merely let his head sink to his chest. With his eyes closed, he could hear Archer moving about them, agile as a spider in the depths of his element.  
  
At length, silence fell.  
  
"We're as ready as we'll ever be. Draw him over your back, Giuliano?"  
  
Wencel quickly bit his wrist as Giuliano hefted him over his back. The movement caused his wing to pull against the grip of the creature trapped within the ice. His glove, thankfully, muffled most of his scream.  
  
_Surely, surely nothing could be worse-_  
  
He was proven wrong, almost immediately. A spike of pain shoved into the joint the creature held so tightly, blinding him with agony. A breathless keen escaped him, but the pain only grew exponentially.  
  
A grinding crackle broke the silence, followed by a sharp  _pop_.  
  
As predicted, Wencel--mercifully--passed out.


	4. All talons on deck

Giuliano, upon feeling Wencel's body go limp against his back, let out a sigh.  
  
"Better he not feel this for a bit, ay?"  
  
Archer, focused on the task before him, gave a brief nod. By means of slowly, painstakingly, forcing ice into the large taloned grip of the horror within the wall of the chasm, he'd been able to push Wencel's joint free of the creature's grasp. Giuliano, tender-hearted by nature, had winced at each grind and pop.  
  
Finally, limply, Wencel's wing came free, slipping down over Giuliano's shoulder.  
  
"To the healers, Giuliano, as quick as you can. Send Zydeco and Husani for Eira and Drift, tell them it's urgent."  
  
"And you?"  
  
Archer, instead of looking at Giuliano, considered the wall of the moulin, the ice-filled bloody grasp of the protruding limb. "I fear to leave, just yet, with this creature in its present state of unrest. Go, I'll keep watch."  
  
For a moment, Giuliano heard something of Drift in Archer's tone. Mollified, he shifted between their ropes and began the slow climb back to the top of the rift.  
  


  
Eira was slowly wrapping up a meeting with Melanie when, altogether unexpectedly, Husani burst through the doors of the conference hall.  
  
"Milday, you're needed at once, Archer's at Hairsplitter Rift, the old moulin-"  
  
_I know the one, Drift has been entirely thorough,_  she imparted to Husani, quickly stacking heaps of scrolls to order.  
  
_Another time, Melanie?_  
  
"Oh most certainly, go milady!" Melanie replied, uncoiling her lengthy frame, her usually cheerful countenance tracked with surprise and worry.  
  
Eira turned her attention to Drift.  _Drift, Hairsplitter Rift, we're needed at once!_  
  
In Drift's case, though he was absent from the room, Eira knew she wouldn't need to press him twice.

  
Alerted by Eira, Drift quickly abandoned the scrolls he'd been pouring over. Clan registries, bulletins, and potential trade agreements could wait.  
  
A sizeable figure, even within the cavernous halls of Clan Endro's lair, Drift carefully made his way to the entrance and, barely past the step, took wing for Hairsplitter.  
  
It was easy to spot, for Zydeco waited by the edge of the chasm, her bright green winter gear a beacon against the surrounding white.  
  
_I'm right behind you!_  Eira intoned, just as Drift landed by Zydeco.  
  
"What's happened?" He asked, immediately aware of Zydeco's anxious state.  
  
"Archer, he's down there. I can't see him. He went down with Giuliano, to rescue Wencel. They say Wencel fell down there last night. He was injured, when Giuliano carried him up. It was... Drift, I've never seen a wing injury so serious."  
  
Having started out at a hurried clip, her voice high with anxiety, Zydeco's worry soon choked her to hardly more than a whisper. "Giuliano sent Husani for you and Eira, so that he might take Wencel and a Longneck back to the lair, to see Piertrov in the infirmary. He said there's.... something horrible down there."  
  
Drift, fully aware of what secrets the ice of the Fortress of Ends contained, merely inclined his head. As he did so, Eira--a small flurry of dark feathers and electricity--landed at a controlled run to join them at the edge of the chasm.  
  
"Milady, we've work to do. Zydeco, thank you. You've been of great service in this, but we can handle the matter from here."  
  
Pacing from front talon to front talon, Zydeco looked upon them both. "Are you certain? What of Archer?"  
  
"Fear not," Drift replied. "I'll get him out. Doubtless, he'll hurry himself up those ropes with more skill than the bugs he eats."  
  
_Thank you again, Zydeco. Go home to where it's warm. You've been out here all morning._  Eira addressed the nervous Skydancer.  
  
Convinced, the lady Skydancer gave both Eira and Drift another nod before taking her leave.  
  
Drift waited until she'd flown around the edge of the cliff before approaching the edge of the chasm.  
  
"Archer, we're here," he spoke into the blue darkness. Faintly, he heard a reply, but couldn't make it out.  
  
"Eira, could you ask him to return to the surface? He's quite far down; I don't believe he can hear me clearly."  
  
_I will_ , came Eira's reply.  
  
Silently, the two waited. Drift, knowledgeable about the depths of such moulins, settled into the snow to await Archer's appearance. Eira, concerned, remained standing.  
  
Eventually, Drift began to hear Archer's approach, and moments later their eccentric clan mage, second only to Nunivak, stuck his head over the edge of the rift. "Afternoon!" He announced, before clambering over the lip of the chasm. "We've a great old Emperor down there, Drift. It's gone and freed part of its arm, or one of its arms, I imagine, and..." here, Archer's jaunty irreverence faded. "And poor Wencel's paid the price. It got him by the wing, right at the joint. I used ice to shove his bones out of the creature's grip. He was unconscious-" he added, before settling in the snow by Drift's side. "-I think he'll lose the use of the wing."  
  
Solemn, yet impressed despite the circumstances, Drift looked to Eira. "We retain our clan's scribe and scholar, this day, thanks to the efforts of Archer, Giuliano, Husani, Zydeco.... and what did Zydeco say? A Longneck?"  
  
"Unfamiliar to the clan, I believe," Archer added. "She heard him singing, down there, and took the initiative to come alert us."  
  
_Singing?_  Eira asked, curiously.  
  
"Oh yes, Wencel's quite gifted! He sings our clan's unruly young ones to sleep," Archer replied fondly.  
  
Soon, though, his look turned grim.  
  
"I fear he was down there all night, singing lullabies to that horror, to keep it from waking. In face of that, I've done, well, nothing. It held him aloft by his wing, you know, crushing him in its grip. It's a wonder the Longneck heard song, rather than cries of pain."  
  
Eira cast a dark look at the chasm.  _Drift, how do we proceed?_  
  
"We seal it, milady. The moulin must be filled."  
  
Blinking, Eira considered Drift and Archer in turn.  
  
"Excellent! I've always wanted to give that a try!" exclaimed Archer with enthusiasm.  
  
"First-" Drift said, to keep Archer from getting carried away, "-we should seal the lower portion of the moulin, to keep the creature contained, and then... ah, then, we might drop an avalanche over it. Ready, Eira?"  
  
_Merely tell me what, when, and where. Will my Lightning be advantageous?_  
  
"Absolutely, milady. Archer and I will handle the first portion of this endeavor, and then you, I believe you'll be the one to seal this up for good."  
  
Eyes alight, Archer flopped by the chasm once more. "The wall, several meters down, curves inward. If we could incite it to crack, I expect it would tip away and fall clear to the bottom."  
  
"An excellent idea," Drift affirmed, settling alongside the mage once more. "You use your magic. I'll follow, to turn the slew impenetrable." The shackles about his wrists clinked, drawing a glance from Archer.  
  
"Right-oh," said the mage, sliding his front talons over the edge and closing his eyes.  
  
A moment later, from far below, a thunderous  **crack**  echoed upward, followed by tumultuous crashing.  
  
"One more, if you might, Archer? I think this moulin has considerable depth to it."  
  
"My pleasure," he replied, shifting forward to move his grasp even further over the edge. Newly settled, he again fell to silent concentration.  
  
A few moments dragged by when, with a shudder, an even louder  **crack** echoed its way up to them.  
  
"Well done, Archer. Had we better light, I well imagine we might see the evidence of the slurry you've created. Nonetheless, you've filled the greater portion of the moulin. Now..." Drift smiled, his deep voice gaining a note of authority, "-I lock it."  
  
Somewhat shakily, Archer climbed back to his feet and backed away from the lip of the chasm. Drift, too, once again rose to his feet.  
  
Eira, noticing the space Archer was allowing Drift, moved to join him several paces back.  
  
Drift curled his front talons into the snow, into the ice beneath it. At his wrists, frost began to form, quickly covering the shackles, his legs, tracing its way up over his chest and neck.  
  
With a deep huff of breath, rose to his hind legs, then drove his front paws and talons back to the ice. The force of his blow, or rather, the results quickly seemed to outstrip what he'd actually done--a gust of flurried snow rose from one end of the rift to the other, followed by multiple cracks and crunches from below. All around, the glacier shivered, before slowly settling into quiet once more.  
  
"Now, milady, we take flight... and if you might strike the slew further up, it seems quite ready to fall. Portions have done so recently, it seems, including the section of trail our Wencel had taken."  
  
Eira, soundly impressed by the proceedings, nodded to show her assent.  
  
The avalanche, while not massive, proved easy to instigate from the air--two well-placed lightning strikes--and Hairsplitter Chasm, home of an ancient horror, became indistinguishable from the surrounding glacier.


End file.
